Head Over Heart
by Ashily
Summary: In light of the recent union of James and Lily, Sirius finds he must give up what he craves so much. Nights with James. [Slash. JamesSirius, of course, implied JamesLily.] Oneshot.


**Title:** Head Over Heart

**Author:** ash ily

**Summary:** It's the last night for James and Sirius.

**Rating:** PG13

**Pairings:** James/Sirius. Mentioned: Lily/James. Ew.

**Warnings:** SLASH MOFOS... oh and depressingness, I guess.

**Disclaimer:** James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily are not mine. I wouldn't mind them being mine, but they cost a shitload and I'm flat broke.

**A/N:** I wanted to write this forever! And I finally got around to it! Are you proud of me, or what?

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**Head Over Heart**

He is in the common room with her, right now. At this very second. Snogging her probably. Stroking her hair, adoring her, rubbing their noses together. Calling her darling and baby and honey and all those cutesy couples names. She'd be giggling and blushy and playing that fake, cutesy girlfriend role she seemed to ravish in, that rose tinted spotlight that seemed to follow them everywhere. Not literally, of course, but if you squinted... you could almost see it there. All eyes would be on them, some cooing with doe eyes (her friends), others gently teasing (his friends). A couple of people might not be too pleased with the distraction, but what were they going to say to Gryffindor's Golden Couple? "Get a room"? No, they had too much class for that. So they just sat in silent admiration of the pair, perhaps even jealous of what they had.

Normally, I would probably be out there too, teasing, though not as gently, believe me. I make quite a show, just so he can guess just how much I dislike his girlfriend. I also make sure she knows it too. But tonight I really didn't feel like it. I don't have the energy about myself to put on a fake smile and laugh hollowly at all those stupid, tasteless jokes Peter cracked about Lily being a "fireball" in bed. Which was my stupid, tasteless joke in the first place, but Peter's too dumb to make up one on his own. Fucking Peter. Remus was there, though, and knowing that, I nearly almost joined them, because Remus is always a good friend through and through, but I couldn't. I just couldn't deal with them tonight. I don't know why. Nothing in particular. But my energy was drained, completely. Of everything.

I half wished I was there. Maybe he'd finally see what was right in front of him, and shatter that fucking rose tinted world. But maybe he wouldn't. I didn't think he would.

No, instead, I decided to sit in the dorms and work on my homework, like a good boy.

Minutes pass like hours, and those hours pass like days. Twice I almost stood up and went to join them. But I was too tired, not physically, but I just... was. So I sat back and stared at my potion's essay, with the same damn six words at the top, "The Wolfbane potion was a great"..., for as long as I can before my eyes start to tear with the pure, mind numbing dullness. Not just dullness, but painful dullness. I put my stuff away then, moving slowly, as if trying to make time go faster. It didn't work much though. Because when I looked at the clock again, it was still nine-forty. Damn time. It always passes too slowly when you want it to do so quickly, and too quickly when you want it to do so slowly. I fucking swear, time is out to get me. But it wasn't passing much faster- no matter how many times I looked at the clock-, so I just perched at the end of my bed and waited like a good boy.

I could tiles, floorboards, shit like that. Pores, for fucks sake. It's a nervous habit.

I look back at the clock, and it's nine-forty-two.

Reluctantly, I pull out that goddamn potions essay and try again. Takes me a bit, but when I get into the rhythm of it, I can sound pretty intelligent. I'm about halfway through the three pages when I look back at the clock.

It's ten now, Lily likes to turn in at just about this time.

I quickly put everything back away and fuss over the state of my bed before sitting back down. I don't want to seem like a slob. Even though he knows I am.

Five minutes later there's a great fuss from the common room. People saying goodnight, laughing, joking, the Golden Couple is leaving. And James appears in the doorway, laughing as Peter and Remus follow in his wake. Have you ever seen anything in slow motion, not just in the muggle movies or spelled to do it that way? Like, everything really, really does stop. It was one of those momens, as he walked in there. One of those goddamn moments. I hate those moments. But it happened anyways. I hate cliches, yet I live one. God, I hate my life sometimes.

He looks at me, and I plead wordlessly, as best I can, and he just looks away. But what can I say, he's a cruel bastard.

Silently, I crawl back into my bed. I don't even bother to undress, I just lay there on top of the covers and curl myself into a compact little package. And I wait. No one speaks to me, they probably all think I'm ill, and I don't bother to listen to their conversations, not when it includes the words "Evans" and "Lily". I refuse to. But eventually, it all dies down, little bit by little bit, and the lights finally go off.

Like clockwork, as soon as Remus's sleepy breath and Pete's droning snores fill the room, I roll out of bed, landing cat like on the floor. No sound from James.

"Prongs?" My voice is hoarse, from not enough use, I realize with some surprise, as I gently part his curtains and peek inside. He's awake, but I knew that. He stares back at me, and shakes his head.

"Sirius... go back to bed." His eyes look above my head as he speaks, and the words seem to leave his mouth reluctantly. I know that, because I know James. I know if he really wanted me to go back to bed, he'd look me in the eye and take me by the shoulders and see me there himself. That's what James would do. He wouldn't look at me so hollowly and say such meaningless things. He's a different person than that. Or he was. When I knew him. When we spent hours together making bad sex jokes and doing nothing. But that was before her. Now she's got him wrapped around her little finger, and ever so subtly he's changing. I can see it in the way he looks at things and people, the way he dresses and stands. He doesn't even fucking drink anymore because she feels it's "unsafe at this age". Rubbish, she just doesn't want him to go off and get smashed and fuck some girl with a figure, unlike her stick of a body. I've got news for her though, it fucking happens. Even when you love someone, it fucking happens.

I sit on the edge of the bed, although with some hesitation (the decent part of me shining through again), and I look at him, hard, the way he used to look at me when he wanted me to tell him the truth, "Do you really want me to do that?"

"Sirius, just stop it," his voice rises above the gentle whisper I'm so used to, and I can't help but edge away, momentarily doubting my knowledge of Prongs's mind, "We can't fucking... do _this_." The last word comes out in a hiss of frustration, almost disgust. Oddly enough, I actually feel something when he says that. A quiver in my chest, almost like my heart is shivering. Honestly, it's quite a repulsive feeling.

"I have a bloody goddamn girlfriend!" For some reason, he feels the need to remind me. He's starting to do this a lot.

"I didn't fucking forget!" The words come out a lot harsher than I meant them to, but that's not necessarily a bad thing, I realize. Because maybe I do need to be more harsh with him. He's been the master of this for a long time, and I fucking want my chance to say what we do, when we do it, and whether or not he likes it, I have needs.

He sits up, and for a moment, I thought he might strike me. He raised his hand to do it, and I could see the twitch of his jaw clenching, and his eyes narrowing accusingly. But the hand falls onto my shoulder, and his eyes gaze down at my covers, before a string of hardly audible words tumble out, "This is the last time."

I didn't really believe him, he'd said that before. Maybe I should have.

"Alright," I say softly, and I start to peel away his pajama top, and his hands have found my waist. He moans when I kiss his neck, stroking his hair as I do so, and he seems to forget the previous conversation. I feel his fingers against my shoulders, and his hips pressing hard against mine, flesh meets flesh. It's quick, much quicker than I would have liked it. But the next day is Saturday, and so he lets me stay there when we finish. I lay next to him, and I spend most of the night just looking at him. I live at his house in the summer, and during breaks. I sleep in his bed when the mood arises. I'm on a first name basis with his parents. I know every single one of his deepest secrets, and I can tell you every girl he's ever shagged and where. If I close my eyes, I can see every pore of his skin, clear as day. We're closer than brothers, and yet I feel so lost and faraway in this rose tinted world he's creating for himself. But still, I sigh and wriggle in next to him, desperate for the smallest bit of affection to prove I still mean something.

He doesn't even bat an eyelash.

And in the morning, I wake up alone, and the next night, he sees me to my bed. I don't try again after that. I know he means it this time, I see it in his eyes. Once or twice, he let me back in his bed, but eventually I stopped pleading, because when he did let me, I didn't get so much as a cuddle.

And when he was gone, I didn't miss him half as much.

**THE END.**


End file.
